


Green Room

by pistolgrip



Series: the polyphony of yearning hearts [2]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Idols, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:38:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolgrip/pseuds/pistolgrip
Summary: noun1. a room in a theater or studio in which performers can relax when they are not performing.(2. moments of downtime in a perpetually turning world.)Side stories that don't quite fit into the main trajectory of Prelude to the Kings.Not updated on a regular schedule, and not always in any sort of chronological order.





	1. Where the Grass is Greener

_DECEMBER 2008_

Saruhiko’s never been good with cold.

The slush makes a disgusting noise under his feet as the two of them weave through the bustling crowd. They’ve reached the outskirts of the park, now, and for their tired feet a dozen rows of empty chairs facing a bare stage are like an oasis in a desert.

The two of them sit on the fringe of the display, taking the time to rest and simply watch the crowd go by; couples, families, friends. Misaki’s breath rises into the air as he chuckles to himself, watching Saruhiko try in vain to warm himself up.

Before Saruhiko can voice his complaints, there’s the faint but obvious sound of feedback, and then a hesitant female voice. She's introducing her group, and Saruhiko thinks, with exasperation,  _not more idol wannabes._ It’s their debut live, a last minute addition to the outdoor Christmas concert that everyone’s long since forgotten about.

 _We only have one song, but we’ll sing our hearts out,_ she says. _Please, listen to our song!_

Saruhiko scoffs at the notion. “There’s no room for idiotic optimists in the _idol industry_ , of all places.”

“Hey, Saru, don’t be mean. They probably get comments like that all the time and they’re still up there, they’re trying.” Misaki gazes at them thoughtfully and immediately turns red at their short skirts in the frigid cold.

At his reaction, Saruhiko laughs once, dryly. “You act like you’ve never seen idols before.”

“I-I have, excuse you! Megumi makes me watch performances with her sometimes,” Misaki admits, shyly. “I’m just—it’s winter! It’s cold, and I feel bad for them, y’know? Shouldn’t be out there doin’ stuff like this when they could be at home with their families, right?”

“Like you are?” Saruhiko’s words are scathing, and Misaki takes a second too long to answer.

“No. I mean, yeah. I mean—mom gave me the day off because I said we had plans, so everyone else is at the restaurant.” Misaki looks off into the crowd’s blinking lights once again. “And after they close for the night, they’re probably gonna hang out. Do family stuff. Actually, they might be already doing that. It's already kinda late.”

The boy with the bright eyes and sunny voice and the fiery hair, who dares to say it’s possible for him to be overlooked, as if anyone could ever look away from him, as if anyone wasn’t entranced by his entire being—and yet, rather than being pained for him, Saruhiko feels a thrill at being the constant centre of Misaki’s attention.

“Sorry, I’m not being fun to be around again.” Misaki plasters a fake grin on his face, trying to convince himself more than the other, and Saruhiko doesn’t like it. He’s not supposed to hide anything in front of him. It’s wrong. “If I were an idol like them,” Misaki says (and Saruhiko can hear the waver in his voice), “it’d be impossible for anyone to pretend I didn’t exist, eh?”

“I don’t think anyone knows they exist, either.” Saruhiko’s arm sweeps wide towards the rest of the rows; aside from a few scattered people, the seats remain mostly empty. “It’s not all fun and games or whatever TV makes it look like. For every successful idol, you have at least thirty people behind them trying and failing.”

“So what, you don’t think I’ll make it, Saru?”

(The girls’ voices ring out. Saruhiko notes that their voices, while good, are nothing too extraordinary.

 _I protected my own self, my small and quiet self,  
_ _Because I believed that I would never be able to dream.)_

 _I don’t want you to,_ he thinks in a panic. His mind jumps to Yata Misaki, looking out to the crowd of thousands of fans, each one of them looking at him as if they knew everything about him, as if they knew the rasp in his voice when he’d hum in the mornings, or the whisper singing he’d do other his breath when he thought Saruhiko was asleep, or the content look on his face as he taste-tests their dinner before calling Saruhiko over, or the way his mouth hangs slightly open as he sleeps.

 _They wouldn’t know. They wouldn’t know anything. They’re not_ allowed _to know anything._ “Don’t be ridiculous.” Saruhiko tries not to grit. “You can’t even carry a tune.”

Misaki imitates a buzzer noise and punches Saruhiko in the shoulder. “Wrong answer. I know you like it when I sing.” He grins, and it feels a little more real this time. “Then how about I don’t go solo? You be my manager or something.”

(Their words, however—Saruhiko wants to crush their words under his foot. _Make them stop. Make them stop. Make them stop._

 _The only thing I could do, in my fear,  
_ _Was turn my back to that unforgiving sea.)_

“That’s not how the business works. And you’d _still_ be going solo, in that case.”

Unperturbed, Misaki considers different possibilities. “Oh, right, you’re good at math and shit. How about being my accountant? Do idols have accountants?”

“I can be the first one, since it's so easy. You’re already in the red, Misaki.”

_(But I am who I am; there’s no deceiving myself._

_The only thing to do is to move forward and never give up.)_

Misaki punches him in the shoulder, the mood feeling lighter after joking around. There's a beat, and Misaki returns to his former contemplation. “But, idols, huh? Making people happy, encouraging everyone and all that. Must be nice.” Having apparently forgotten his earlier embarrassment, Misaki watches the girls on stage, expression neutral.

Saruhiko clicks his tongue. “It doesn’t sound nice at all. Who wants hundreds and thousands of brainless idiots cheering for a personality that isn’t real?”

_(Wake up!)_

Misaki is quiet.

_(The hope I hold in my heart overlaps with you!)_

“Yeah, I suppose it’s kinda silly.” The strain in Misaki’s voice returns. “But what if I was just myself, you know? Some idols are pretty down to earth. I could be one of them.”

“As your manager,” Saruhiko plays along, “I say that’s a rather bad business plan.” It’s a rather excellent one, actually, because Misaki is bright and beautiful and why he doesn’t already draw crowds in now, Saruhiko doesn’t know.

“Whoa, didn’t know the dog-eat-dog part of idol life came immediately from my manager,” Misaki jokes. He still sounds detached, as if he were still considering the possibility of being an idol, as if Saruhiko's attempts to deter him weren't working. “Thanks for always lookin’ out for me, Saru.”

 _(Stand up! There is no such thing as an endless night;  
_ _We have to believe in the smiles of tomorrow.)_

The contrast of the sickeningly optimistic songs with their somewhat bleak conversation is starting to make Saruhiko sick, and he stands up abruptly. He takes a step towards the garish Christmas displays, and without stopping, he mutters; “Let’s go.”

“And you say _I’m_ the one scared of girls, but you’re the one running away, aren’t you?” The metal chair’s legs scrape across the ground as Misaki stands up and catches up with Saruhiko, once again.

 

* * *

 

APRIL 2013

It’s nothing but a blurry memory of warmth and cold and bright and dark, but Misaki can remember one line from that concert with clarity.

_(I want to shine for my one and only.)_

And Saruhiko himself has never believed in the uplifting messages that idols are supposed to deliver, except maybe only one, one he’ll never admit to.

_(I want to shine for my one and only.)_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!  
> [tachiagare! & lyrics](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=109GlKzQyqU)
> 
> In the very off chance that someone reading this has actually watched Wake Up, Girls!, please ignore the location and timing for the sake of continuity within PttK/Polyphony of Yearning Hearts. ^o^;; 
> 
> I have a few other things planned for this, most of which work much much better when released in tandem with the appropriate PttK chapters, but I'm open to suggestions over at curiouscat or twitter (which are linked somewhere on my profile already)!


	2. midnight channel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not everything is televised.

**early morning  
** september 2013

“Oh my god, it’s fuckin’ _weird_ hearing us sing on the radio.” Bandou shoves the hat further over his face as everyone raps his lines back to him. He’s in the front seat, so all of the noise is directed straight at him.

“Still not used to it yet?” Fujishima laughs in something Bandou would _almost_ pin as good-natured, if he hadn’t just leaned between the front seats to turn the volume up.

“I’m not used to it being Amethyst Forge, y’know, instead of like OXIDIZE, it’s just _weird_ —fuckin’ stop!” He smacks away Eric’s hand, laughing. “Y’know what I mean?”

“We’re going to _speak_ live on air, you know,” Dewa says all matter-of-factly. “If you want, we can just tape your mouth shut so you won’t have to talk, and _therefore_ , you wouldn’t have to hear yourself talk.”

“We’d also get to not listen to you,” Eric supplies cheerfully.

Dewa looks at him. “Yeah, I was getting there—oh, wait, it’s the chorus!”

Dewa and Eric belt out the chorus as everyone else mumbles along, not quite knowing past the first few words. Bandou pulls out his phone and sticks it on the front camera. “Name: Bandou Saburouta. Date: September the fifth. Time: quarter to noon. If anyone sees this video, then you’ll know something’s gone horribly wrong and I’m probably dead.” He turns the camera to the backseat and everyone just sings (garbles) even louder. “Totsuka-san, help. My death will be on your hands.”

“This is rather dramatic of you, Bandou-kun.” Despite that, he tries to raise his voice over the horrific jumble of noise. “Even with three of you missing, you’re still an unnecessarily loud bunch. I love the energy, but mind keepin’ it down so I drive you guys safely there?”

 

* * *

 

 **noon  
** april 2013

“Enomoto-san, you’re the youngest of all the Alphabet Boys?” Today it’s just Enomoto and Fuse on the show, among members of other groups and soloists.

“Yeah. They don’t really baby me or anything, it’s like having a bunch of chill older brothers. They make fun of me, but we all help each other out when we need it, right?” Enomoto pauses to think. “I mean, when we were training, I wanted to learn how to drive before I ran out of time—”

“Stop, I’m sick just thinking about it.” Fuse closes his eyes as if he were in pain, and the other guests laugh in surprise.

One of the solo female artists asks, “What happened, Enomoto-san?”

There’s a sheepish grin on his face. “Well, they were trying to teach me how to drive.”

Fuse puts up a hand to stop him. “No, let me talk about it, so I can only do it once and erase the memory from my mind.”

 

* * *

 

 **afternoon  
** october 2012

“Oh—Oh, Christ, take your foot off the fucking gas pedal, Enomoto!” Gotou’s got a death grip on the car door handle, trying not to show his horror out of consideration. Fuse is not even trying in the backseat, looking desperately at Enomoto through the rearview mirror, and Hidaka is just hooting.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, ah, hold on—” Enomoto slams on the brakes and everyone in the car lurches forward. Everyone takes a moment to catch their breath, and Fuse licks his lips. “I’m gonna step out in the cool air for a bit,” he says, somewhat sick.

Hidaka has no filter with his laughter and slams the back of the driver’s seat. “Enomoto, I love you, but you have to keep us alive if you still wanna practice driving with us.”

 

* * *

 

 **sunset  
** december 2013

Today, Kingdom Come is performing their Christmas EP alongside their regular repertoire. Their venues are getting larger and larger, and it’s a preparation for both the fans and the staff.

Really, a Christmas EP was predictable. Munakata and Totsuka are _campy_ as _fuck_ , and nothing screams _idol_ like singing about Christmas romances and sleigh bells. It’s not a bad time of year, anyway, it’s just a busy one. Christmas stage outfits are a tiny bit more comfortable than regular stage outfits, and for that, mostly everyone is glad.

Fushimi is the grumpiest looking reindeer Yata’s ever seen. The tiny bells on his antlers tinkle as Fushimi tries not to look like he’s sulking around (but he _totally_ is, everyone can see it in his eyes, and it’s hard not to laugh at the contrast).

Yata suppresses the laughter, anyway. The two of them have reverted to some strange state of delicate friendship before November, somewhere closer to September, maybe, when things were okay but they didn’t say things were okay, because vocalizing everything made it worse. Didn’t it?

Or was it _not_ saying anything?

They’re… cordial. Most of those in Kingdom Come think that after a weird blip of two weeks where their arguments were reminiscent of February, they were back to normal, bantering, having silly arguments. (Awashima can tell, Kusanagi can tell, Totsuka can tell. But they don’t count.)

It looks normal, but now there’s an undercurrent of _something_ in all their interactions, and he feels off balance. But even _Yata_ is running out of room to argue, so he tiredly plays along with Fushimi’s game of _let’s-pretend-this-never-happened_.

And sometimes, it’s okay. Sometimes Yata forgets they’re pretending and it feels normal, and then they get a little too close and—

_(“Misaki.”)_

And then, Yata gets a weird look in his face, a stutter in the façade, and Fushimi frowns until Yata can pick the game up again.

Yata’s not normally one to refrain from expressing emotions, but they’ve been in the public eye often. He doesn’t exactly have the freedom to banter with Fushimi and then suddenly break character by asking him what the _fuck_ is wrong with him, and what the _fuck_ was that, and _why the fuck_ don’t we _ever talk about anything_.

But no one ever said the job was easy.

 

* * *

 

 **evening  
** december 2013

“Misaki?”

Misaki’s brought out of his thoughts abruptly by Saruhiko’s voice, and as his head tilts up rapidly, he notices the antlers still perched atop the _(stylized)_ nest of dark hair. “Yeah?”

“Get on stage. Kusanagi-san’s calling.” Saruhiko’s voice drawls, and Yata notices the feigned boredom directly betrays his body language.

Another millisecond later, and it’s kind of easy to tell why. Everyone else is out of the green room already, Misaki having stayed behind for a few costume rearrangements, and in order not to waste time, he’s been sent back to collect Misaki. Just Saruhiko, finding just Misaki, with just the two of them backstage.

They look at each other for a few seconds, Misaki simply looking at the other growing more and more awkward. “You just gonna stare at me?” Saruhiko shifts his weight onto his other foot, and the bells on his antlers jingle.

Misaki breaks out into short, barking laughter at the noise. It further infuriates Saruhiko, and in trying to respond, he accidentally makes the bells jingle again. Misaki can’t resist the laughter for just this one time. He can hear Saruhiko make a sound of annoyance underneath it, and it’s more natural of a reaction he’s gotten in ages.

It re-energizes him, and so he stands up, stretches, and looks back up at his friend with a lopsided grin on his face. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He claps Saruhiko on the shoulder as he walks out of the doorway, and he thinks he hears the other exhale shakily.

 

* * *

 

 **nighttime  
** october 2013

On the edge of the stage, Yata sits and looks out in the hall. Most of the staff is backstage or wandering between the aisles, last minute preparations before a relatively large performance the next day.

Anna sits down next to him, tucking her skirt neatly underneath her. “Are you excited, Misaki?

“Yeah. Kinda nervous too,” he admits. “Can’t believe all these people want to see us sometimes, y’know?”

 “You should believe it. HOMRA Entertainment and Scepter 4 worked very hard for this.” Anna says everything matter-of-factly, a style that’s rather reassuring to many of the people who have had the pleasure of interacting with her.

Yata hums in agreement. It hasn’t been the easiest of journeys, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Probably. (But Fushimi would have been stubborn in any other timeline, wouldn’t he?) Their first big concert in Tokyo is only two months away, and this concert is just another practice of working together. It’s getting easier and easier.

“So, how ‘bout you, Anna? Hasn’t it been a while since you’ve performed, too?”

Anna lifts her hand, making a rectangle with her fingers, and closes one eye as she looks out from the stage through the lens of her hands. Yata watches as she pans slowly from left to right, her fingers stopping in front of his face. He flashes a grin, and he sees a small smile on her face in return.

“I’ll be alright. It’ll be fun next to everyone.”

Looking out to the empty seats, the two of them continue to converse lightly until it's time to leave.

 

* * *

 

 **midnight  
** late september 2013

On the way back from a recording, Akiyama yawns. “Munakata’s birthday is next week, y’know.”

“Isn’t that in the first week of October?” Hidaka is just as tired as he is, and it just adds more to his confusion of time.

“…Yeah?”

“But it’s only—oh, shit.” Hidaka glances down at the phone to check the time and finds the date staring back at him: September 25th. “ _Already_?”

“We’ve been kept incredibly busy since the minialbum release,” Gotou mutters from the driver’s seat, “I almost can’t believe it myself.”

“Yeah, but Gotou,” Hidaka stresses. “It’s _Munakata’s birthday._ ”

Their manager is unperturbed. “I know. I’m starting job searches tonight, and you’re all helping me once you’re rested up. I’m sure Awashima-san and Fushimi-san would be more than happy to join.”

They should be resting; instead, later that night, Alphabet Boys, Fushimi, and their respective managers scramble to find jobs within the first week of October. They’re normally booked a while in advance, but there are empty holes in schedules that Munakata could worm his way into, and they need to cover all bases.

“Got one for the third of October, Fushimi.” Awashima walks proudly back into the lounge, and Fushimi allows himself a moment to breathe.

“There is _no_ way I am _ever_ doing any of his Scepter 4 Company Bonding Birthday Parties ever again,” Akiyama grits through his teeth, looking through their old appearances and making a list of who to contact. The lounge is filled laptops and the people crowded around them, nothing but frantic typing throughout.

Awashima gets another call, and some of the members of Alphabet Boys despair; they haven’t gotten a call back yet. “Awashima Seri, Fushimi Saruhiko’s manager—yes?”

The room quiets down.

“Yes, alright, I will discuss this. Have you also contacted Gotou Ren?”

The mention of his manager’s name has Doumyouji fanning himself and looking as though he were on the verge of crying tears of happiness. Hidaka pumps his fist in the air.

“Excellent. Fushimi is here with me, he’s heard the request, and we’ll accept it on our part. Yes. Thank you.” The room is tense, and only a few seconds later Gotou’s phone starts ringing.

“Gotou Ren speaking.”

Doumyouji _actually_ starts crying.

The suspense has everyone on the edge of their seats, and when Gotou hangs up, he leans against the wall and lets the tension drain from him. “We’re doing one of those ‘vacation’ recordings,” he finally gets out, “we’ll have to spend two weekends there for a double feature episode.”

Awashima nods in agreement and the entire room bursts into happy cheering. “On the downside, it _is_ your weekends—”

“Awashima-san, working on weekends is _nothing_ compared to last year.” Enomoto looks up at her with nothing but pure joy. “Do you _really_ want to play Coup with Munakata-san _ever again_?”

Torn between her duties as a manager and her position as not-the-President-of-the-company, she avoids answering the question. “We should still do something for his birthday.”

“Okay, we’ll make him a cake, bring him home some souvenirs, _done_ , let’s get packin’, boys!” Hidaka skips in the direction of the dorms, everyone following behind him with relieved chatters.

 “Awashima-san, you can be cold sometimes.”  Fushimi closes his laptop.

“Am I supposed to turn down a job you’ve never tried before? What kind of manager would I be?” Awashima’s professionalism is nothing that can be written off, and she has any sort of remorse, it’s not overwhelmingly obvious.

Fushimi sighs.

 

* * *

 

 **new moon  
** september 2012

Isana doesn’t live lavishly as he could be; more upscale than a regular businessman, but he always mentions, “if it weren’t for security concerns,” he says, “I wouldn’t mind living back in my old apartment building.”

Nevertheless, it’s out of the way, but still humbler than one would expect of his salary.

Suoh leans on the balcony railing facing inside, some of his smoke trailing into the small room. Munakata sits in front of a low table, examining various legal documents for Kingdom Come. Isana lies on the floor beside the table, eyes closed towards the ceiling.

“Is this legal?” Isana chuckles, already knowing the answer. “Didn’t think rival companies could exchange information so freely with each other, especially sensitive trainee and employee information.”

With only a small smile, Munakata’s eyes do not leave the pages. “It’s vague at best; however, having firsthand experience of the disaster we are working to avoid is an advantage. So as long as you do not record any of these conversations or make copies of the documents, you cannot be held accountable.”

“So stuffy. Still so stuffy.”

Isana and Munakata are sporting similarly mysterious smiles, and Munakata pauses to catch a glimpse of the white haired man lying in front of him. “We all hide things of our own, do we not?”

 

* * *

 

 **sunrise  
** november 2013

What a mistake.

Saruhiko is burning red, and the only saving grace he has is that everyone was intoxicated on some level and had assumed the same for him. He _wishes_ he were drunk, but that might have just made things worse. So instead, his fingers form and untangle chords at lightning speed, trying to keep up a constant stream of movement for any sort of distraction.

There’s not a lot of thinking to do. For once, he doesn’t want to do a lot of thinking.

The scent of copper is heavy in the air, as if his fingers were straining the strings blood red.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first collection of scenes that don't quite fit anywhere, or don't have enough momentum to push the plot forward.  
> are they important? are they not? who knows?
> 
> also i swear i'm trying to write the homra boys, but it's so hard for me ;_;  
> i still love them! i swear!


End file.
